


cracks in the ice

by agentcalliope



Series: all you have is your fire (and the place you need to reach) [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swearing, obligatory katara finds out about zuko's scar fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentcalliope/pseuds/agentcalliope
Summary: Breaking the ending, she thinks, is like a crack in the ice.It isn’t a scream, like she thought it would be, as loud as a brilliant blue light spilling into the sky. Instead, it is a whisper, a crackle of energy and fear of the unknown.  “Enough,” Katara says.(Katara and Zuko talk about healing, choices, and change.)
Relationships: Katara & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: all you have is your fire (and the place you need to reach) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808362
Comments: 98
Kudos: 1304
Collections: Best of: Avatar The Last Airbender





	cracks in the ice

It always ends the same.

The beginning... now, that always changes.

Sometimes all it takes is the grimace of discomfort half hidden behind tight lips, the way he shuts his eyes and breathes in little controlled breaths. Katara will always groan, drop whatever she’s doing, and immediately march right up to Zuko. She’ll shush him when he protests _I’m fine seriously Katara Katara no I have to I don’t need_ — and she’ll steer him into the healing room with an iron grip.

Sometimes, it’s the quiet way he touches her arm, hand clammy and trembling, eyes hazy with pain. His skin white under his pale complexion. Katara never grunts, when it’s this. She’ll drape her arm across his shoulders, and whisper in his ear, _I got you don’t worry it’s okay you’re okay I got you,_ and help him limp until they get to where they need to be.

Whether it’s dragging him in because he’s being too stubborn or because he’s in too much pain, Katara will lead him to the table and help him lie down. Then, either Zuko will undress himself, the robes and the bandages, muttering to himself too low for Katara to hear—

_What did you say?_

_Nothing._

_Hm. That’s what I thought. —_

Or, either, he’ll clench his fists and his teeth, whimpering as Katara unwinds the cloth from his skin.

Either way, after, Katara uncorks her water skin, weaves her hands with the water, and begins unraveling the damage splayed across his sternum.

Sometimes it takes minutes. Sometimes it takes hours. But it always ends like this:

Zuko, breathing a little bit easier, just enough for her to notice, but not enough for her to say something. She’ll bend the water back into her flask, gather all the dirty wrappings and throw them in a basket. Then she’ll walk to the cabinet and take stock of what’s left, pull out some of the fresh bindings stored there. Together, they’ll sit him up on the table, dress his wound, and help him back into his robes. If his topknot has become messy, or undone, she will tie it back neatly without him asking her to.

And then, as he gingerly steps onto the ground, Zuko will say, “Thank you.”

And then, Katara will answer, “It’s the least I can do, for what you did.”

And then he’ll shake his head. “It’s the least I could’ve done, for what I’ve done.”

Katara _hates_ it, his words. What he says. Every single _fucking_ time. They leave a bitter taste in her mouth, uneasiness settling deep within the pit of her stomach. She’ll lie awake at night, narrowed eyes trained on the ceiling. Her arms will be crossed, and she’ll mull the words over and over again in her mind.

But this is the ending, and it always ends the same. She’ll bite her lip, fake a smile, and open the door. He’ll match her smile, but his will be genuine. He’ll gesture to her to follow, and they’ll walk out together.

Katara is used to the water, the way it flows and ebbs. The push and pull of the moon, the ocean. She doesn't like change, but at least she knows how to live with it. She’s had too, her whole entire life.

Breaking the ending, she thinks, is like a crack in the ice.

It isn’t a scream, like she thought it would be, as loud as a brilliant blue light spilling into the sky. Instead, it is a whisper, a crackle of energy and fear of the unknown. 

“ _Enough_.”

Zuko’s staring at her, and his apparent confusion is making the crack expand with anger, and heat.

“You always answer with— just _take_ the thank you! I’m tired of hearing you say—you didn’t throw yourself in front of lightning because of— some _stupid_ — _Ugh!”_ Katara stomps her foot and throws her hands in the air. “I don’t want you to think you saved me because you still have to prove you’re redeemable, Zuko. You would’ve done it if it was anyone else there. If it was Sokka, or Toph, or— or a stranger you’ve never met! You would’ve sacrificed yourself to save anyone, because that’s the kind of person you are.” There are tears in her eyes, and she _hates_ that, so she blinks them back and points her finger at him. She would be jabbing it into his chest, but she’s just spent two hours trying to ease his burn. “You are a good, kind person who cares so little for himself and too much for others, Zuko.”

He’s silent, but at least he doesn’t look like he doesn’t understand anymore. His eyes are always piercing, intense, and when they meet hers it takes all her strength to keep from stepping back.

“Okay.” and that’s it. That’s all he says.

This time, this ending, Zuko doesn’t smile. He opens the door himself, and without looking back, walks out ahead of her.

***

Katara’s combing her hair and sitting in front of the mirror when there’s a knock on the door. It’s a quiet knock, a gentle knock, and Katara knows without a word who it is. So, she says, _come in_ , and there’s only a slight hesitation before Zuko enters her room. 

Gold eyes meet blue, and he clears his throat before he speaks. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said.”

She doesn’t say anything, just sits there, and waits. Tries not to notice how the candles on her vanity, by her bedside, that were once so bright, are beginning to dim. 

Zuko looks down at the floor. Keeps his eyes on the ground, moving over to her bed and using a hand to ease himself down.

“You’re right.” He says, slowly. “It was my choice, and I would’ve done it regardless of who was there with me. But I’m not going to apologize for it. I don’t regret my decision.” 

Oh. This is-- this is not what she wanted. This is not what she meant. Katara stands up but before she can address this, Zuko interrupts. 

“But it’s not fair that you have to continue taking care of me. You didn’t choose that.” A sigh. “I’ll send for a healer to help me, from now on. It’s okay.”

It’s _not_ okay. She wants to scream, take him by the shoulders and shake him. But she doesn’t, she can’t, because this is Zuko, her friend, and he’s still staring at the floor, head bowed, and she thinks it makes him look so, so small. 

Katara walks over to him, sits by his side, and takes his hand in hers. He flinches when she does, but doesn’t pull away.

Her voice is soft, when she speaks. 

(His scar flickers in the light)

“Why would I want you to regret it? Jumping in front of _lightning_ for me, saving me?” 

“Wait,” Zuko blinks, and finally meets her eyes. “You’re not, uh, you’re not mad at me?”

“Of course not.” Katara shakes her head, squeezes his hand. “How could I be?” 

She continues, and sighs. “I just-- I don’t like that you put yourself down. Thinking so _low_ of yourself. This wound,” she takes her other hand and places it on his chest, “this _scar,_ is because you saved someone despite your own safety. You should never question it.”

The way he stares at her, the way his jaw tightens and he draws in a deep, shuddering breath, turning his head away from her again— 

Oh. Of course. 

Katara understands now.

(it’s draped across his face, after all)

“It's not the first time you've gotten hurt for someone else, is it?” She whispers.

Zuko doesn’t answer. 

“It was your face, wasn’t it?” She says a bit louder.

Zuko doesn’t answer, but, then again, he doesn’t need to. 

She wants to cry, wants to throw her arms around him and sob. She wants to hug him so, so tight, and never let him go.

Instead, Katara lets go of his hand, and she narrows her eyes, and snarls through clenched teeth. “Who was it?”

“This time, I got to choose.” He mutters. “This time I knew the consequences of my actions.”

“Who _was_ it?”

“Katara, I don’t—”

“Was it Azula?”

“Katara—”

“ _Who was it, Zuko?_ ”

“What do you want me to say?” Zuko hisses and ah, there it is: that brilliant, blue and loud _crack_ . “That my father held me down with one hand and lit my face with the other? That he tossed me away like I was fucking _nothing?_ ”

The candles are so bright, too hot. In another time, another life, this much fire would’ve made her afraid. _He_ would’ve made her afraid. 

She says nothing, and waits until his breathing has slowed, and the light from the candles have dimmed back to normal. She slips her hand back in his and he turns to face her again.

“I’m sorry,” Katara begins, her voice crackling. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. It was wrong. I just, I don’t like thinking about you being in pain, like that.”

A pause. She’s not afraid of him, but afraid of her questions, and how he might answer. “Is this why you were banished?”

“Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Fuck.”

Zuko raises his eyebrow, and despite all this pain and anger, there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. She’s never wanted anything in her entire life more, then to see him smile. “You’ve cursed more times tonight then I’ve ever heard you.”

Katara fakes a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand and bumps his shoulder. “Fuck you.”

He smiles now, _really_ smiles, and bumps her back. “Fuck _you._ ”

“Fuck.” She says.

“Fuck.” He replies.

“ _Fuck!_ ” She screams.

“Fuck!” He shouts back.

They are cursing at the other, and for them, in this moment, it makes perfect sense.

(The crack in the ice dissipates, and all that’s left in the sky is the sun and the moon.)

When they’re finally out of breath, giddy and flushed, Katara notices that his top knot has become messy and tipped to the side. “Can I fix that for you?” She asks, gesturing with her hand.

Zuko seems to know exactly what she means, and he nods. So, Katara scoots off the bed and grabs her comb from her vanity, coming back to move behind him. She eases off the golden flame, and the tie along with it. She hands them to Zuko, and he accepts, lowering them onto his lap.

Gently, softly, she brushes through his hair, untangling the knots that have taken root. She thinks carefully on what she wants to say next, searching for what words could possibly explain how she feels. “I know you aren’t looking for an apology, or pity. But, I am sorry, Zuko.” Let this be the last she says about it, until he is ready.

He doesn’t answer, and that’s okay.

She smoothes every strand of hair, his beautiful, _beautiful_ hair, and once she’s satisfied with her work gathers it up and reaches out to take the tie.

And then, of course, the small, gold flame.

Katara smirks. “There. Perfect.”

She pretends not to notice how his voice cracks when he responds. “Thank you, Katara.”

It’s okay. They’ll get there. They’ve got time.

***

The beginning still changes, of course. Sometimes Zuko’s too stubborn to admit when he’s in pain, and Katara’s torn between tearing out her hair and dragging him to the healing room. Sometimes, he’ll look at the ground and tentatively ask, _Katara, can you… can you please help me?_ and she’ll answer, _Of course, Zuko. I’m right here. What do you need?_

No matter the beginning, the ending always stays the same.

She’ll smile, genuinely smile, and he’ll smile back. He’ll gesture to her to follow, and they’ll walk back out, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Reader. I hope you liked it! Thank you once again to Luka, Kim and Alex for reading this over. What was life like without you?


End file.
